You Don't Know What You Have Until You (Almost) Lose It

The Day I Lose My Everything

*Phil POV*

I wake up alone in my bed, my stomach growling, feeling totally fine. What is up with the stupid 24 hour flus? I stretch, stand, and make my way out of my room to find Dan, already changed out of his pajamas.

"Hey, Phil," he says. "I was just about to wake you up, assuming you weren't still sick, that is"

"Why?" I ask, confused why he was not only out of bed, but actually in his daily black on black on black attire. "I'm not sick, by the way."

"We have reservations for breakfast," he says, smiling we. "Get some clothes on and we'll go?"

"Um. . .okay?" I say, perplexed. I walk into my room, smiling. Why the hell was he doing this? I throw on a t-shirt and jeans, and come back out to see Dan slipping on his shoes.

"Ready?"

"I guess. Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Dan says, a smirk playing across his face. We walk out the door, to the road, and signal a cab.

During the ride, Dan stays completely silent, which is kind of terrifying. No matter what I say, Dan just turns his head and squeezes his lips together, tighter each time. Where the hell are we going? And who makes reservations for breakfast in the first place? The cab stops, and I look out the window.

"You took me to a pancake house?" I ask. This morning just keeps on getting more and more confusing.

"Well," he says, paying the driver and opening his door. "I figured, giving the fact that you didn't get your British pancakes a couple days ago due to violent precipitation, that I would make it up to you." He motions his hands towards the building.

"Dan, you didn't have to." But, honestly, I'm kinda glad he did.

"Yes, Phil. Yes I did. Plus, I'm hungry as fuck so can you just appreciate it so we can go eat?"
"Okay."

As we walk inside, Dan holds the door open for me. He walks up to the usher.

"Reservations for two, please. 10:00."

"Of course, right this way." She scribbles something on a piece of paper and leads us to our table, which has a lovely view of London traffic and a particularly odd mime. "Here you go! I'll be with you in just a few minutes." She sets down some menus and gives us a small smile before walking away.

"She's nice," says Dan. I look around the room. For the most part, the place is completely empty, except for an elderly couple sitting a few booths down.

"Dan?"

"Yes, Phil?"

"Quick question. . . Why, exactly, did you make
a reservation? This place is a ghost town. We wouldn't have had a problem getting a table."

"Well," he smiles at me. "I wanted to have the best seat in the house." I almost ask him what makes this particular spot so special, but then I notice. Streaks of sunshine break through the window beside us, scattering the wooden floor with little patches of gold. The warm glow is mesmerizing, showering the baskets of blooming flowers, illuminating each individual petal outside the glass.

"It's the spot closest to the only window that actually provides sunlight, when it's around," he says. I turn my attention from the small particles of dust that seem to be dancing above us in the light, and back at Dan. Unlike me, Dan is not observing the scenery. He has his eyes on me, smiling, his elbows rested on the table.

"This is actually pretty cool. Thank you, Dan," I say.

"Of course, Phil." I see our waitress approaching us in the corner of my eye.